Around the Bend
by JennWithAPenn
Summary: SEQUEL TO "SAY SOMETHING." Anne and Gilbert are in love, newly engaged, and hoping for a summer full of only one thing: each other! Will the season be as simple and sweet as they wish it to be? This story picks up right where Say Something leaves off.
1. The Rumor Mill Works Overtime, & Gladly

**This story is a sequel to Say Something.**

_AN: Dearest readers, I know I promised you a sequel, and I am so sorry to have kept you waiting so long! It took me a while to figure out exactly where I wanted to go with this story, and I did not want to let you down by putting anything less than my very best effort into writing it. In the end, I found my direction, and so here we go again! This story picks up right where Say Something left off. After a tumultuous end to their fourth year at Redmond, Anne and Gilbert are in love, engaged, and hoping to get as much of each other as they can before Gilbert begins medical school in the fall. Will the summer be as simple and sweet as they wish it to be?_

_And of course, a big thank you to L.M. Montgomery for creating such wonderful, beautifully developed characters. It is a great privilege to write them!_

**Around the Bend**

**Chapter 1: The Rumor Mill Works Overtime, and Gladly  
**

K+

Spring had begun its slow exit in Avonlea; summer was approaching, and its eminent return was felt by all. Delicate lilies turned their heads up to the sun, basking in its abundant rays, while berry thickets bore their growing burdens proudly, and the Lake of Shining Waters beckoned all who passed by to dip their toes into its cool depths. Children skipped along dirt roads, singing songs and kicking up dust, while bees buzzed happily among the flowers of even the tiniest gardens.

Yes, a change of season was in the air. Yet there was something else which buzzed through the atmosphere of Avonlea, carried by cool morning breezes and warm evening ones. It danced about the town, traveling faster than even the birds and bees—rumors. Like any other small town, Avonlea was a breeding ground for gossip. Even its most reserved inhabitants were not opposed to taking part in the spreading of a good tale, and the latest piece of news was certainly worth mentioning to two or three neighbors at the least. Since the story's first appearance less than two days before, it had spread to every corner of the town, and to every pair of ears within its limits. Each time the news was told, the conversation followed a similar tune.

"Did you hear that Anne Shirley is engaged to Gilbert Blythe?" the informant would say to the informed, with a degree of importance in being the source of a magnificent and long-awaited piece of information.

"Heavens, can you be serious? After all this time?" the informed would surely reply.

"Oh yes, it's as true as you live," the satisfied informant would then explain. This would almost certainly be followed with an "I told you it would happen eventually," or an "I knew all along they were a match."

And so the conversation would continue. As to how the news of Anne and Gilbert's engagement came to be so widespread, it started as many tales in Avonlea do, with one Mrs. Rachel Lynde.

Not thirty minutes after hearing it from Anne and Gilbert themselves, a much excited Rachel had made it her duty to enlighten all of her dear neighbors. She had first told Mrs. Bell, Mr. Mac Phearson, Mrs. Gillis, and Mrs. Harrison. Mrs. Harrison went straight home to tell Mr. Harrison, while Mr. Mac Phearson told Mr. Fletcher, along with Mr. Cotton, who immediately told Mrs. Cotton, who told Mrs. Boulter and Mrs. Shaw. By then, Mrs. Gillis had told Mrs. Sloane and Mrs. Andrews, and Mrs. Andrews then told Mrs. Barry and Mrs. Pye, who told Alice Lawson. Alice Lawson had told Mrs. Wright, and Mrs. Wright told Mrs. Donnell, who told Mrs. Clay. And after that, it would really be quite impossible to discern who told who, although we can probably depend that Mrs. Lynde told everyone else, at least until her legs and lungs failed her. And so came the day that the entire town of Avonlea grew abuzz with the news they had expected to hear years before.

"I knew all along she was courting that Roy fellow just to spite poor Gilbert," Mrs. Lynde said to Mrs. Bell as she leaned against her front porch railing, catching her breath after hustling from house to house. "Providence wouldn't have let it happen any other way. Why, the day she broke that blessed slate over his head, I said to Marilla, 'There's a match for you, and make no mistake!' You'll see now that I was right from the start."

"Well I wish she wouldn't have jilted him the first time… but that's water under the bridge now, I suppose, and I feel sorry I ever turned my nose up at her," said Mrs. Blythe to Mr. Blythe, while laying the table for supper. "She'll make him a wonderful, spirited wife. That keen mind of his will never grow dull with Anne around… I never could keep up with Gilbert's banter, but if there's one soul as can do it, it's Anne." She then proceeded to blow her nose into her handkerchief.

"Bless my soul, Anne finally came around to the fellow, did she?" Mr. Harrison had said to Mrs. Harrison between puffs of smoke, as he leaned back in his rocker with pipe in hand. "My, but she was always a stubborn one, that she was. That Gilbert better keep a firm grip on her, with _two _hands, if he knows what a good thing he's got."

"Do you mean to say that even hot-tempered, obstinate Anne is getting married before our Josie?" exclaimed Mrs. Pye to Mrs. Andrews during afternoon tea, with a shake of her head and roll of her eyes. "Why he waited around for her all this time is beyond me… she's put a spell on him, that's what. I've always said that girl was strange, and now here's the proof!"

"I'll bet they've been engaged for years, and simply kept it quiet till now," Mrs. Sloane said to Mrs. Harrison, while stuffing mail into various boxes in the post office. "I've heard she rejected our Charlie, and I never could see any reason why, except she must have already been engaged to Gilbert. Now I see I was right all along!"

And so the talk continued.

Perhaps the only person oblivious to the buzz of gossip was Anne herself. On this particular afternoon she sat, back against a tree in the orchard of Green Gables, legs stretched outwards and ankles crossed, lost in a book. Her hair was tied in a single braid down her back, and she fiddled unknowingly with the end of it, running her fingers over the neatly woven strands. It was a lazy day for Anne, yet she did not mind; it was a nice departure from the strain of her Redmond studies. Hardly more than a week had passed since she walked the platform to receive her degree, yet it felt far longer. Between final exams, romances both gained and lost, and moving back to Avonlea, Anne mind had hardly found a moment's rest. Because of this, she treasured these first few lazy days to no small degree.

Anne was so enraptured with her book that she did not notice the sound of approaching footsteps. Therefore, she was all-the-more startled when she felt two firm hands upon her shoulders.

"Enjoying Miss Bronte, I see," came Gilbert's voice in her ear. Anne gave a small start before placing her hands on top of Gilbert's and craning her neck up at him.

"Goodness, Gilbert! You seem to have quite a fondness for startling me," Anne said, as she closed the book she was reading. The words 'Jane Eyre,' gleamed up at them from the cover. "And yes, I was. You've actually chosen quite a climatic point to disturb me," she added severely, while unable to hide a smile, for it was quite a welcome disturbance.

Anne shifted slightly to face Gilbert better, and took a moment to take in his appearance. He was looking a bit healthier than he had at the end of term, when he had shown up on her doorstep with a sallow face and rings around his eyes, his clothes hanging loosely from his slumped shoulders. Countless hours of studying had taken their toll on his body, and since Anne now knew—with a twinge of guilt—that _she_ was the reason he had nearly killed himself over his schoolwork, she felt it her personal duty to see to his full recovery. His cheeks and skin, although not as vibrant as they once were, had now regained some of their usual color. His eyes still appeared rather tired, but at least the dark rings around them were gone. As for his clothes, they were still quite baggy, but Anne supposed it would take him several weeks to reach his original size and stature. Oblivious to Anne's silent examinations, Gilbert plopped himself down on the grass next to her.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry to interrupt. I simply thought you might like to know that I've just been through town, where I overheard the strangest gossip. Everyone is talking about it," he said with a smug smile. "I don't suppose you'd like to hear it?" Anne abandoned her observations as she placed her book next to her and drew her knees up to her chest.

"Oh yes, and what might that be?" she said, feigning mild interest as she curled a blade of grass around her finger; in truth she was quite intrigued.

"Well," Gilbert said, a grin slowly spreading across his face. "They're only rumors, perhaps you may tell me whether or not they are true… but the word is, you've recently become a very fortunate woman."

Anne raised her eyebrows at him. "How ever so?"

"Well, the way I hear it, you're going to be married. But that isn't the half of it. The fellow is supposed to be second to none… good looking, intelligent, ambitious. Have you any idea who it is?" Gilbert's face was plastered with an impish grin. Anne sighed as she shook her head—no news, just Gilbert being his usual self.

"I haven't the slightest clue. There's no one in this town who fits that description," Anne said archly, as she gathered a pebble between her fingers and tossed it at his head. Gilbert shielded his face with his arm.

"Well," he said, unhindered by Anne's snub, "if _you _have no clue as to who it is, I've no idea why everyone else claims they knew all along…"

"Do they!" Anne exclaimed, her cool countenance breaking.

"Such is the hearsay," Gilbert replied simply. "And anyway," he added, leaning in to Anne and placing his face mere inches from hers, "I have my own ideas about who it is." Anne's heart began to beat quickly at the sheer closeness of him. She wasn't quite used to it yet; she wondered if she would ever grow used to it.

"Oh yes? And who might that be?" she asked, blushing slightly.

"Well, I happen to have also heard that you let Gilbert Blythe kiss you today, in the orchard of Green Gables."

Anne wrinkled her forehead. "But I haven't let you kiss me tod—" Her words were cut short as Gilbert pressed his lips into hers. Anne lost the will to counter his statements as she let his lips do as they pleased. The taste of Gilbert, while still new and exciting as ever, seemed to only grow sweeter with each kiss he chose to bestow.

"You were saying?" Gilbert said, as he pulled away and resumed his former position. Anne closed her eyes for a moment, as she returned from the distant cloud she had been sitting on.

"Fine," she conceded. "I'll confess. It's all true, every bit of it."

"I thought it might be." Gilbert smiled as he tugged Anne's golden-red braid, before laying backwards on the grass and bringing his arms up, placing his hands under his head. "You might also like to know, that I saw something while I was in town that will be of great interest to you."

"I'm sure you did…" said Anne sarcastically, preparing herself for more of Gilbert's mischief.

"You don't want to hear what I saw?"

"Not particularly."

"Alright then, have it your way. Pity if she hears of it from someone else…"

"Hears of what?" Anne asked, her curiosity piqued. Gilbert was too good at these games of his.

"Of us, being engaged," Gilbert said. His eyes were closed, giving him the appearance of being quite unconcerned with the matter. Anne rolled her eyes.

"Gilbert, you just made it clear that everyone already knows. Who on earth are you talking about?"

"Diana Wright of course," he replied, opening one eye in order to view the surprise that was certain to appear on Anne's face. "I saw her and Fred driving down the Newbridge road today, returning from Charlottetown." He grinned as Anne's eyes bulged and her mouth dropped open.

"Why… Diana! Oh, Gilbert, why ever didn't you say something! She wasn't supposed to return until tomorrow!" Anne exclaimed, giving him a small shove for keeping the news from her these five minutes. "I simply must go to her, immediately, or someone else shall surely tell her first!"

Gilbert chuckled at the degree to which his news had excited Anne. Before he knew it, she had sprung to her feet, hastily brushed off her dress, and begun making her way back to Green Gables. 'Jane Eyre' lay forgotten on the ground. Shaking his head, he bent down to retrieve her abandoned book, then turned and followed after her.

….

Thirty minutes later, a winded Anne Shirley hurried down the lane to the Wright homestead. The day was not altogether hot, yet beads of sweat glistened on her forehead by the time she had completed her two-mile journey. She wiped several loose strands of hair from her face as she discerned Diana, sitting in a wicker chair on the front porch with a tiny bundle in her lap.

"Anne!" Diana called, as she saw her approaching the porch steps.

"My dearest Diana, how wonderful to see you!" Anne cried, taking the steps two at a time and leaning down to embrace her friend. Anne thought it very refreshing to see Diana after many months apart, and delighted in the glow of happiness which read in her every feature.

"I'm ever so sorry we missed your return from Redmond," said Diana. "My Aunt Josephine—" Yet Anne was not thinking of Redmond just now; nor was she thinking of Aunt Josephine. Her attention had been captured by the plump, precious angel looking up at her from the blue folds under Diana's elbow.

"Never you mind your Aunt Josephine at a time like this! But my goodness, Diana, little Fred is simply delightful!" Anne looked down into Fred's sweet, dimply face. She could not help but notice how much he looked like his father. Yet somehow, despite being fat, freckled and scarlet, he was none-the-less wonderful than if he had been the handsomest baby alive. Anne offered him her little finger, and his tiny fist closed tightly around it. Diana was practically gleaming with pride. Anne decided that motherhood looked very good on Diana. Nevertheless, she could hardly believe her bosom friend of long ago was a mother in the first place!

The next quarter of an hour was spent admiring little Fred. Diana gushed and glowed, while Anne gawked and admired.

"Motherhood is the sweetest thing, Anne. I am confident you will love it, some day when you are a mother yourself."

"I am sure I will, Diana," said Anne with a laugh, while she wiggled the baby's tiny toes. "I have dreamt of being a mother for my entire life."

"And you will be such a wonderful one! You have such a way with children," Diana sighed, in a tone of admiration bordering on jealousy.

"Well if motherhood has made my bosom friend so supremely happy, then I am looking forward to it all the more!" Anne said with a smile. "As long as I don't have twins," she added. "I've had enough of twins to last a lifetime! Yet I've always said that twins seem to be my lot in life." Diana laughed in agreement. Between the various sets of Hammond twins, and Dora and Davy, Anne certainly was experienced on that subject.

All this talk of children led Anne's thoughts, naturally, to Gilbert. What would their children look like? Hopefully they would inherit his dark brown hair—Anne had always hated her own—yet she would be glad if they had her nose. And oh, what joy she would derive from seeing Gilbert's hazel eyes staring up at her, out of the face of a wee babe upon her lap! Anne found herself lost in thought, until thinking of Gilbert caused her to suddenly remember the reason for her visit.

"Oh, goodness me!" Anne said aloud, wondering how on earth it could have slipped her mind, so enraptured had she been with seeing Diana once again. "I've only just remembered… I came here to tell you the news."

"News?" Diana said, looking at Anne through raised eyebrows.

"Yes," Anne said, clearing her throat. "I wanted to be the first to tell you…"

Diana gazed at Anne expectantly; in her eyes, there was only one type of news which merited such an introduction. She had expected the summer to bring word of Anne's engagement; after all, she and Anne had talked of it often that past Christmas. Now Diana merely waited for her suspicions to be confirmed.

"I'm engaged," Anne said, throwing up her hands as she said so and pausing to see Diana's reaction. Diana's eyes widened slightly, and she smiled as she clapped her hands together.

"So Roy proposed, then! Oh, Anne, I was desperately hoping he would. To be honest, I wasn't quite sure if you would see it through; Fred said you wouldn't, but of course I defended you, although it was hard to see how you really felt about him. But of course you were only being modest—"

"Diana, wait!" Anne cried, overwhelmed by her sudden outburst. She also couldn't help but notice that Diana's excitement, while genuine, seemed forced in its degree. Diana grew silent in response to Anne's request.

"Hmm?" she said, wearing a rather confused look.

"Perhaps I should clarify. I am engaged… but not to Roy," Anne said. She might have mentioned Gilbert's name then and there, but she couldn't resist the opportunity to hold her friend in suspense. Diana's mouth fell open. If she hadn't been shocked by Anne's initial declaration, she most certainly was shocked now.

"Wha… what? _Not_ to Roy?"

"No, not to Roy."

"Well then… then… but you were courting… you said…" Diana stammered. She stared at Anne through wide eyes, flabbergasted. Anne couldn't help but smile at Diana's puzzlement.

"Whoever _are_ you engaged to, Anne?" Diana demanded. Anne's smile widened and she let out a small, uncontrollable giggle. Diana realized that Anne was holding this vital piece of information from her on purpose. "For heaven's sake, Anne Shirley, tell me!"

"Well then…" Anne replied, deciding she had kept her poor friend on edge for long enough, "to Gilbert Blythe, if you must know."

Diana let out an ear-piercing shriek, nearly dropping baby Fred on the floor. She then clapped her hands over her mouth, eyes growing even wider than before.

"To… to _Gilbert Blythe!_ Why, Anne, you sly minx! But you swore up and down you didn't care a thing for him! Are you in earnest?" Diana's face was puzzled; it all seemed too wonderful and strange to be true.

"I am, dearest Diana," Anne said, taking one of Diana's trembling hands into her own. "And take no more explanation beyond the fact that I was a stubborn, blind, unbearable goose, and have since seen the error of my ways." As Anne said this, she began to laugh. Diana couldn't help but notice the genuine glee that was written in every feature of Anne's face; it put a rosy tint in her cheeks and a glowing fire in her eyes that made her look remarkably beautiful. So it was true! The realization that Anne really was engaged to Gilbert caused Diana to shriek aloud once again.

"Oh, Anne! I am so happy for you, I could burst!" she said, before pulling Anne close to her and giving her a wet kiss on the cheek. Diana was completely giddy with excitement for her dear friend. Anne couldn't help but notice how different Diana's reaction was, upon hearing that Anne was engaged to Gilbert, and not Roy. Then again, Diana liked Gilbert much better than Roy. Furthermore, she had never been able to understand Anne's constant snubs to Gilbert throughout their long history.

Diana's exclamations of glee were interrupted by the front door flying open. A red-faced, distressed Fred Wright burst through it.

"Diana, are you alright? I heard screaming," he said, looking wildly from Anne to Diana. The two girls burst into fits of laughter. Half a minute passed before Diana was able to gather her wits about her.

"Nothing to worry, Fred dear, although Anne did just startle me half to death! Perhaps she will startle _you_ half to death as well, when you hear her news." Diana turned to Anne and winked, then turned back to her husband.

"What's that?" asked Fred, scratching his head in confusion.

"Why, Anne here is engaged to Gilbert Blythe. What say you to that, darling?" Fred's jaw dropped, much the same as Diana's had done only five minutes before.

"Well, is that so?" Fred said, looking at Anne and letting out a low whistle. "Why, I never… I thought he gave that up when you jilted him the first time."

"Fred!" Diana exclaimed, shooting him a disapproving look.

"No offense meant, of course," Fred added apologetically while glancing once again at Anne.

"It's alright, Diana," Anne said, patting her on the arm. "Truly, it is. I've been a downright fool when it comes to Gilbert, and I might as well get used to people saying so." She flashed a smile at Fred, who gave a small shrug, as if he could not help but agree.

"Well then," Fred said awkwardly, clearing his throat. "If you ladies are alright, I think I'll just head back inside. Congratulations, Anne." With that he shuffled back through the door. Fred had never possessed a knack for entertaining Diana's house guests.

Once he had gone, Diana spoke again. "Tell me how it happened, Anne," she pleaded, while stroking little Fred's wispy curls with her fingertips. And so Anne told Diana the entire story from start to finish; Diana was a most willing and animated listener. She gasped in surprise as Anne told her of Gilbert's kiss, and anguish showed on her face during the awkward tale of Convocation. She buried her face in her hands when Anne spoke of Roy's proposal, she sighed when Anne recounted the Convocation dance, and she clenched the arms of her chair during the story of Roy and Gilbert's confrontation. When Anne finally arrived at Gilbert's proposal, Diana was an emotional mess. She claimed it was the sweetest proposal she had ever heard of, and promptly wiped her eyes on baby Fred's blanket.

"Oh Anne, you poor dear," Diana said, when Anne's tale was finally told out. "That is quite a story! It's a wonder you didn't fall ill from the stress of it all! And it must have been quite overwhelming to finally realize your love for Gilbert."

"Oh, but it was!" Anne replied, reflecting for a moment. "It felt rather like plunging into pool of cold water. Every sense was magnified, and it was uncomfortable, and almost painful in its intensity. But after a short while, I embraced it, and grew relaxed and happy and _free._ And everything just felt… _right_." She let out a sigh, while gazing up at the sky. Diana took much pleasure from seeing the dreamy look on Anne's face.

"I love him so completely, Diana," Anne continued, holding her gaze towards the heavens. "Looking back, I can't even remember a day when I _didn't_ love him."

Diana smiled and placed her hand on Anne's knee. "I think you've loved him from the very start," she said earnestly. "If I could only count the times I asked you if you cared for him! Yet you would always become so upset every time I raised the subject—that's how I knew you loved him. If you didn't, you wouldn't have cared half so much at my thinking you did." Anne saw the truth in Diana's statement and nodded in agreement. Looking back, Anne realized that Diana, too, had known all along of her feelings for Gilbert. It had all been so clear—to everyone but herself!

Both women sat silently for a moment, each reminiscing over intimate conversations of old. It was Diana who broke the silence first. "Do you remember the wild, dashing, wicked men we once dreamed of marrying?"

Anne gave a chuckle at the thought. She was all too familiar with the melancholy man which had inhabited the dreams of their youth. She had courted the very likes of him, after all, and found him to be not so very dreamy in the end.

"Oh yes, how could I forget!" she exclaimed. "When I first learned of your engagement to Fred, I was so disappointed in you for abandoning your tall, dark, mysterious hero of yore."

"Ah yes, Fred isn't quite any of those things, is he?" Diana said with a laugh. "I told you that one day you would understand, when your turn came," she added, with a shake of her head.

"What a stubborn goose I was!" cried Anne, as she buried her face into Diana's shoulder. "I clung to that ideal until it nearly drowned me! In the end, you spoke the truth, and I am forced to eat my words, without a spare bit of sugar to make them go down smoothly! Yet it pains me not to admit to you, dearest Diana, that I could never imagine myself marrying anyone but my dear curly-haired, sarcastic, mischievous Gilbert."

"Oh, to hear you say that at last!" Diana exclaimed. The two then proceeded to discuss all matters of love and life, with every air of their girlish camaraderie of olden days.

Anne's conversation with Diana left her heart feeling very full, for there is nothing quite like sharing life's greatest joys with a bosom friend. As Anne skipped back down the lane an hour later, she couldn't help but feel content. Her last weekend at Redmond had been the most stressful, emotional, and exciting one of her entire life, yet the dust had finally settled. She was finally around this rather sharp bend in the road, and waiting for her on the other side had been Gilbert, with both arms and heart open wide. She knew not where it would take her now, and neither did she care. As long as she had Gilbert to walk it with her, she would face it with a smile on her face and a song in her heart.

* * *

**AN: And off we go! Thank you for following me over here, you are all so wonderful. I hope to make your time worthwhile!  
**


	2. Weddings, Cake, and Wedding Cake

**Chapter 2: Weddings, Cake, and Wedding Cake**

**T  
**

Gilbert Blythe sat comfortably in his worn leather seat, feeling its soft vibrations as the train clattered along the tracks. He leaned his head on the top of the seat-back, enjoying the sensation. Gilbert had always loved trains—the dull murmur of the engine, the rhythmic clicking of the wheels over the wooden rails, the feeling of his very seat pulling him forward in space. He found the entire experience ideal for relaxing and meditating.

On this particular journey, Gilbert was even more comfortable than usual, owing to the vibrant auburn-haired head that was resting on his shoulder. It was the first time anyone had ever slept on his shoulder, and the fact that the sleeper should be Anne caused Gilbert to wonder at his luck. That she should sleep on _his_ shoulder—and no other's—gave him a distinct sense of pride. _"Look at me!"_ he felt like shouting to the other passengers on the train, _"Look at this beautiful girl who I get to call mine!"_ Indeed, Gilbert could think of no greater honor than being the man whom Anne Shirley willfully chose to lay her head upon.

He peered sideways to look into her face. Her long golden lashes rested daintily on the tops of her cheeks—a projection of innocent beauty. He counted the seven freckles perched on her nose—freckles she hated yet he adored. He could make out the faint trace of a smile on her lips as she slept, and hoped he might be partially responsible for that smile. Gilbert realized in that moment that he was smiling himself, and in his mind, there was no doubt that she was the cause of it.

The past two weeks had been the sweetest and fullest of his life, despite their simplicity. Nearly every moment that was not spent helping his father on the farm was employed in visiting Anne, and wandering with her about Avonlea. Gilbert remembered each visit perfectly, as a moving picture engrained in his mind. And it was not only the sight of Anne he remembered, but the feel of her skin, and the smell of her hair; the sound of her laughter and the taste of her lips. He had spent many long years waiting and hoping for Anne, and now that she was his, it was as if his senses were on overload. He closed his eyes as he recalled the sweet memories.

Long walks to Hester Gray's garden, strolls over the grassy dunes of the island shore, excursions up Mr. Fletcher's cherry trees, misty mornings o'er the Lake of Shining Waters, and moonlit trysts in the birch grove bordering Green Gables… yes, the last two weeks had been positively perfect. Yet Gilbert saved his favorite memory for last, and was on the point of recalling it when Anne stirred slightly. Gilbert lifted his arm and put it around her, as she nestled into his side. He smiled and stroked her hair, once again reveling in the sheer sight and feel of her, before replaying a scene from earlier that week in his mind.

Two days before, Gilbert had knocked on the kitchen door of Green Gables, only to find Anne alone, and preparing to bake a cake for the upcoming church social. He had intended to sit quietly at the kitchen table while she worked, but Anne had immediately employed his services, passing him a bag of flour and a cup, and asking him to please measure four cupfuls into a bowl.

"I'm sorry Anne, but I'm afraid I cannot help you," Gilbert had said.

"Why ever not, Gilbert?" Anne had replied, grudgingly. "I hope you do not believe you are above baking fruit cake?"

"Oh no, if there's one aspect of manhood which I lament, it's that we are not appointed the office of baking cakes," Gilbert had stated, in a tone which was so serious, Anne had let out an undignified snort of laughter. "The problem is, Miss Shirley, that I do not have an apron." Anne had laughed so hard at this statement that she fell to her knees, clutching her side. Gilbert merely stood before her, hand outstretched, ready to receive the requested item of clothing.

And so a flowery apron had been produced, and Gilbert wore it with as much pride as he had worn a similar apron during his Lambs initiation at Redmond. He measured the flour with the utmost precision, sliced the apples with inordinate gusto, and when it came time to stir the batter, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows, plunged the spoon into the mixture, and sang at the top of his lungs:

"Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man,

Bake me a cake as fast as you can,

Roll it up, roll it up, and throw it in a pan!

Patty cake, patty cake, baker's man!"*

As he uttered "baker's man" for the final time, Gilbert had brandished the spoon high in the air, sending bits of batter flying. Anne was as good as useless after this display. She had giggled and laughed until her face turned blue and tears streamed from her eyes. Oh, that there would ever be another man for her than her nursery-rhyme-singing, flowery-apron-wearing Gilbert!

Gilbert had watched Anne laugh herself out of breath with a full heart; if he could only make her laugh at least once each day, for the rest of her life, he would be a happy man. It was then that he had been possessed with quite the mischievous idea. Glancing at the open bag of flour, and then back at Anne, he reached his hand inside and pulled out a handful of its powdery contents. As Anne recovered from her episode and turned to face him, he had dropped a small white pile on the top of her head.

She had then let out a small shriek, followed by a "Gilbert Blythe, how dare you!" Gilbert had merely stood there, smirking. He shrugged and turned both of his palms upwards as if to say, _'What are you going to do about it?' _In response, Anne had skirted around Gilbert, dipped her own hand into the bag, and held it menacingly in front of him with a set face. She raised her arm, preparing to set its contents free. She hadn't meant to throw the flour at his head, but just as she opened her fingertips, Gilbert's own hand had fastened across her wrist, ruining her aim. And so Gilbert found himself with a flour-smeared face. He had paused for a moment, little white flakes falling from his dark lashes as he blinked the mess from his eyes.

"Oh, Anne Shirley, you have no idea what you've just gotten yourself into." He leaped for the bag; Anne pulled it away, and the battle that ensued would have given Marilla a heart-attack had she seen it—for her pristine floors and counter-tops could certainly not be called spotless in that moment. When the last flurry of white dust had settled, Anne and Gilbert found themselves sprawled on the floor, doused in flour and sugar both. Their entire store of artillery spent, they had then declared a truce, and a laughing Anne had gone to procure some towels, so they might at least wipe their faces clean.

"Oh, if Marilla could only see her kitchen now!" Anne had cried as she wiped behind her ears.

"I suppose it's lucky for you she is taking tea with the Ladies Aid," Gilbert had replied, before adding: "Say, Anne, you've missed a spot."

"I have?" Anne asked, blushing. "Where is it?"

"Just next to your ear… no not that one, the left one… now down a little…" Gilbert had only grinned as an exasperated Anne tried to dab at the remaining flour which clung stubbornly to the side of her face.

"Have I got it now?"

"I'm afraid not. Here, let me help you," Gilbert said, scooting closer to Anne. She held out her towel, expecting him to take it. Gilbert, however, had no intention of taking Anne's towel. He brought his lips to the spot in question and kissed it, sucking ever-so-lightly on the skin to remove any powder there. Anne let out a small "oh," and seemed to quiver at his touch.

"Mmm, tastes like cake," Gilbert had said, as he brought his hand to the side of Anne's face, stroking it. "Let's see, now that I look more closely, there are a few more spots you missed." Anne was left speechless, as Gilbert moved his lips upward to her forehead, and began to circle her face with tiny kisses, gradually making his way inward to her cheeks and nose, something he had dreamed of doing for a very long time. In the end, he had finally found her lips. The kiss he had given her then was tender and sweet, neither brief nor drawn-out.

As he pulled away, she had grabbed his shirt with both fists, bringing his face back to hers. She was kissing him deeply—greedily—and Gilbert was consumed with a level of longing he had never known before. Why was it that the more he got of Anne, the more he _wanted_ of her? He had lost himself for a moment, kissing her passionately and moving his hands up and down her back. He wanted nothing more than to lay her down, right there on the white, flour-dusted floor, and kiss every part of her he could see, and then some. He brought his hand up to her shoulder, prepared to push her gently down and onto her back, when by some grace of God he had regained a sense of control.

He _couldn't _give into this longing; that would be carrying things too far. At that moment, Gilbert had realized how difficult the next three years would be. The boundary between right and wrong was not so solid as he once thought; he could breach it—would want to breach it—every day. He had to be careful for both their sakes. And so he had given Anne one last sweet kiss, and suggested they clean up the mess in case Marilla returned home early.

"Next stop, Bolingbroke!" a deep voice sounded down the train, bringing him back to reality. Gilbert cursed the conductor inwardly. How could they be nearing their destination already? He wished it were still a hundred miles away, so he might cradle his sleeping Anne for a couple more hours. The conductor's booming announcement had caused her to stir from her sleep. Anne woke up, stretched her thin, pearly arms delicately, and opened her eyes.

"My… goodness," she said through a yawn, "are we… there already?"

"It shouldn't be more than a few more minutes," Gilbert replied regretfully. "You mentioned Phil was coming to pick us up?"

"Oh, goodness no. With her being married tomorrow? She will be far too busy," Anne replied, her tone of voice indicating that this simple fact should have been obvious. Gilbert shrugged. What did he know of women and their wedding preparations? "In her letter she said Jonas would escort us," Anne continued.

Jonas did escort them, and fifteen minutes later they were seated in his buggy as it rattled through town. Gilbert had been quite pleased when Anne had suggested he accompany her to Phil's wedding. Anne herself had been born in Bolingbroke, and so he was very interested in seeing the place. He looked around at the cobbled streets and prim storefronts. A strange chill went down his spine as he imagined a scenario where Anne's parents _hadn't_ died of fever, and in which a small girl with two flaming red braids danced and sang through the scene around him. Yet the fever had stolen that life from her. The fever was relentless; he knew that, and Anne knew it better. Yet the fever had brought her to Avonlea, and so he could not wholly lament Anne's age-old loss.

Half an hour later, Jonas' buggy made its slow way down the lane to Mount Holly, the home of Phil's parents. Even Gilbert couldn't help but notice how gorgeous the house was—painted a rich taupe color with white trim, with a wrap-around verandah, and various gables and bay windows. The very house seemed to gleam with anticipation of the morrow's festivities. Anne was flushed with excitement at the prospect of seeing Phil, and her face lit up when the latter appeared in the doorway.

Anne hardly waited for the buggy to stop as she leapt from her seat—ignoring Gilbert's offer of assistance—and ran to meet her.

"Phil!" she called out, as she reached the porch steps. The two girls greeted each other with such zest that one would assume they had not seen each other in several years, rather than a few weeks. They embraced each other tightly; afterwards Anne held Philippa out at arm's length.

"Oh, but Phil, you look every bit as lovely as you did when we left Redmond," Anne sighed. "You'll be the most breathtaking bride Nova Scotia has seen in many a year!"

"Do you really think it's possible?" said Phil, her large eyes probing Anne to praise her once again; she had never quite overcome her fondness of compliments.

"Of course I do! And how could it not be—you're practically glowing with joy," Anne exclaimed. Phil really was beaming with happiness; Gilbert himself could see that.

"Well, I suppose I am. How could I not be, when I'm about to marry such a man as Jo?" Phil said, batting her eyes in Jonas' direction. Then she added with a wink, "I might also add... that I am not the only one who is glowing." With that she tapped the tip of Anne's nose with a finger.

"Phil!" Anne exclaimed, clasping her cheeks with her hands as she began to blush. Gilbert laughed under his breath, for Phil had not attempted to keep her voice quiet. Phil turned to greet Gilbert as he approached them.

"Gilbert, how lovely to see you," she said, pulling him into a hug. "My, you are looking better than when I saw you last, but it's really no surprise as to why," she flashed a grin at Anne as she said this. "Although you still do look a bit tired…"

"It was a long trip," Gilbert explained, although Phil was right—he was tired. He was always a bit tired, even though term was well over, yet he tried not to let it show. He still helped his father willingly on the farm, for he couldn't bear to let his old man down. And his desire to see Anne in his free hours overtook his longing for rest. He would just have to grow used to feeling tired, he supposed.

"Well I'm so glad you've come," Phil said. She placed a finger on her lips and surveyed Anne and Gilbert thoughtfully. "Yes, everything is as it should be. You two are simply charming together. I'm certain Roy would have never done for you, Anne," Phil then turned to Gilbert and said, in a quite audible whisper, "I was rooting for you all the while, Gil."

Anne narrowed her eyebrows and shot Phil a pointed glare, while Gilbert stifled a laugh. He had grown to find Phil quite amusing. Her willful impertinence appealed well to his sense of humor.

"Oh Anne, you take things too seriously," Phil sighed. "I'll bet Gilbert can tell you that." She then turned and led them into the house.

…

Mount Holly was a lively place that evening. People came and went, delivering platters and decorations, while more guests arrived from out of town and crowded into the various rooms. The women worked feverishly in the kitchen, with Philippa's mother at the helm. Mrs. Gordon was a tall, thin woman, with honey-brown eyes and curly dark-brown hair arranged in a tight bun on her head. Her expression would have appeared quite severe were it not for the crooked mouth—a feature she shared with her daughter.

Mrs. Gordon had initially disapproved of Phil's choice in a husband—Anne had explained this to Gilbert during the train-ride—but Gilbert supposed she had finally overcome her dislike, or at least come into a quiet acceptance of it. By the way she took command of the wedding preparations and troubled over the tiniest details, it was clear that every measure would be taken to assure her daughter had a beautiful wedding day.

And so the women worked the afternoon away, baking the wedding cake—"Try not to get it all over yourself this time," Gilbert had whispered—arranging flowers, preparing food, and doing Gilbert-knew-not-what. In the meantime, Gilbert helped Mr. Gordon set up a tent in the garden, which was to hold the wedding breakfast. Mr. Gordon was quite unlike his wife—short, mustached, and with a generous waistline. It was clear that the women shouldered the bulk of the conversation in the Gordon household, for Mr. Gordon was a man of few words; he and Gilbert talked little as they assembled and arranged the tables and chairs. Gilbert spent the rest of the day trying simply to keep out of the way. Every now and then, Anne or Phil would shout him an order, which he would carry out obediently before resuming his perch on the living room sofa. Why so much effort went into a wedding was beyond him—but he supposed this was due to his simple-minded masculine ways.

As evening finally fell around Mount Holly, the hustle and bustle of the day began to die away, and Gilbert and Anne found themselves sitting on the verandah around the back of the house. It was dark outside, yet light streamed through the windows and fell in neat squares upon the garden. A soft babble of voices could be heard from inside, and someone was playing the piano in the parlor. Anne leaned her head against the porch railing, tired from travel and preparation.

"Oh, to know what Phil must be feeling right now, on the eve of her day-of-days!" Anne sighed as she turned her gaze upwards; faint stars had begun to sprinkle themselves about the sky. "You know, Gilbert, there are few things that make me feel happier than weddings. They are just the perfect example of joy, and surrender, and commitment towards another person. Sometimes I feel I will cry from the sheer thought of what weddings represent. And Phil marrying Jonas; they are really such an odd-looking pair, and that's _beautiful,_ Gil. Love heeds no mind to superficialities; it looks into the soul_._"

Gilbert smiled at Anne's words; he adored her quiet musings—it was one of the things that had made him fall in love with her, all those years ago. She wasn't nearly as poetic now as she had been in days of old, and Gilbert loved to hear her slip back into her old meditations. He reached over and took her hand in his, playing with her fingers and the soft skin on top of her hand.

"I've thought often of another wedding today, Anne," Gilbert said softly. Anne turned her gaze earthwards and her eyes locked with Gilbert's; each held a loving stare reserved solely for the other.

"And what sort of things were you thinking of, my love?"

Gilbert's heartbeat quickened at those last two words—she had never called him "_my love"_ before. He decided he liked it.

"Well, I imagined a beautiful girl, with gray-green eyes and long auburn hair, flowing behind her as she walks down the aisle in a white dress." Anne smiled as she her eyes traveled slightly upwards, indicating that she was creating the scene in her own mind as well. Gilbert thought for a moment and continued. "I imagined lifting her veil, and kissing her tenderly, and later dancing with her among a circle of friends, and cutting a creamy white wedding cake, and enduring long-winded toasts from our gushing admirers, and little boys throwing old shoes behind us as we depart."

"Mmm," said Anne, dreamily. "I can see the Green Gables orchard, decorated in white ribbon and lilies, and a handsome man waiting for me at the end of the aisle, in a neat suit and tie, with his hair combed back—but only because I ordered him to. And I can see Marilla making a fuss over the serving of breakfast, and his mother crying into his father's shoulder as we say our goodbyes." Gilbert grinned and nodded his head as he continued to play with those long, slender fingers he loved.

"Three years," Anne sighed, a hint of longing in her voice. "It seems so far away."

"Yes, three years," Gilbert repeated. "I'm sorry to make you wait so long, Anne." They sat in silence for a moment, each thinking of the long road ahead, before they would finally be man and wife. For Gilbert, it seemed to stretch out before him like an eternity. Three years of only seeing Anne over summers and Christmases. And on top of that was the realization Gilbert had made only days before—that he would be constantly battling his desire to _be with her_, intimately, as only a husband can be with his wife. Anne's soft voice penetrated his thoughts.

"When I imagine seeing Phil at the altar, beside herself with joy, I can't help but think about how beautiful it is… that tomorrow she and Jonas will _belong _to each other. Throughout the rest of their lives, they will see more of each other than anyone else, forever. And I am ashamed of my envy." Anne dropped her gaze to the floor. Gilbert said nothing, but gave her a soft squeeze of the hand. "If only we could be married now, Gil," she sighed, still looking downwards.

"If only…" Gilbert said, assuming this was a rhetorical statement. Her words echoed his own desire, yet to be married before he finished medical school would be impossible. Anne remained quiet for a moment, and when she looked up at Gilbert again, a strange fire was burning in her eyes. She was looking at him intensely—Gilbert knew she had just been overwhelmed with some new thought.

"What if we did get married, Gil? I could come with you to Redmond; we could be together every day." The tone in her voice was so resolute that there was no mistaking her sincerity.

"Oh Anne, you know I couldn't support you. We would be scraping just to get by—"

"But I could work. I could find a job teaching; I could make just enough…" Anne's voice trailed off. Gilbert's heart broke to see how determined she was—to see the hope within her that would be extinguished as quickly as it had come, for he knew he couldn't give her what she desired. He brought Anne's hand to his lips and kissed it. Then he pressed it to the side of his face, looking right into those brilliant gray eyes.

"I can't let you do that, Anne. I couldn't bear it... Please don't ask it of me," he pleaded, this last sentence barely more than a whisper. Gilbert was not without his pride; he could never let Anne be the sole bread-winner, and even a teacher's earnings would not be much to support them. He couldn't bear the thought of Anne living in want because of him. Gilbert swallowed before continuing. "I want to marry you, Anne, more than anything in the world. But I want to do it properly… I want to take care of you, Anne-girl."

"Why can't I take care of you, Gil? Just at first." Anne's voice began to crack.

"Think about it, Anne. Even if you did teach, what would happen if you…" Gilbert paused here, thinking over the implication of his next words, before continuing. "If you became pregnant?" he finished. "Then what would we do? You couldn't work then."

"But there are ways to prevent it, I've heard about them—" Anne persisted, throwing out this last futile defense.

"Three years is an awful long time to push our luck, Anne," Gilbert replied quietly. Anne's face fell as she realized he was right. She continued to stare at Gilbert as a single tear slid down her cheek. It hurt Gilbert greatly to see her disappointment. He wished there was some way—any way—to grant her wish. But there was not. They must wait; Gilbert knew it, and now Anne knew it.

"I love you, Anne," Gilbert said, kissing the hair on the top of her head. "I'll count down the days, every single one."

"I'll be counting down the hours."

Gilbert and Anne remained on the porch for some time, until Anne's eyelids began to flutter, and she fell asleep once again on Gilbert's shoulder. He should have sent her up to bed right then and there, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. Back on the train, he had longed for just one more hour of this—of Anne's perfect head resting upon him for a pillow. And if he couldn't get it then, he would get it now.

* * *

**AN: Goodness, I love writing Gilbert chapters so much. If only every chapter could be from his perspective! I hadn't planned to stretch Phil's wedding into two chapters, but that darn cake scene just forced itself in there and took up some serious space. So it's two chapters you will get!**

**-I always wondered why Anne and Gil didn't just get married and content themselves with being poor during his med school years. I wanted to explore that, and now that I have, it makes perfect sense why they waited. Especially on account of the babies—they weren't so preventable back then, and we all know Anne and Gil won't be able to keep their hands off of each other once that day comes ;)  
**

**Thanks as usual for the reviews on the last chapter! I am so happy to see some familiar faces here!  
**

_*Taken from the old English Nursery Rhyme: "Pat-a-Cake," Thomas D'Urfey, 1698_


	3. Give and Take

**AN: Thank you for your patience, it's been quite a long time between updates. I don't mean to go that long every time, pardon my busy life! Also, I was rereading the last chapter and found a few rather ugly typos. They have been corrected (hopefully all of them), and I promise to be more thorough in the future!**

**Chapter 3: Give and Take  
**

**T**

Phil's wedding day dawned the way any wedding day ought to dawn—clear, calm and bright. The clouds that speckled the sky to the east made for a sweet little sunrise, robed in pastels of orange and pink. A soft morning breeze lightly rustled the leaves of the trees; they seemed to be awakening along with the birds and critters. Anne watched this calm, peaceful picture unfold before her from Phil's bedroom on the southern side of Mount Holly. She leaned against the window pane and hummed softly as she brushed through her long golden-red hair.

Phil's rather unladylike snores could still be heard from the bed. Her room, although not large, was moderately sized, and had served as lodging for her and Anne, along with a cousin from Halifax, who had already arisen, although her untidy mass of blankets could be seen upon the floor. Anne had slept the entire night with the odd yet thrilling knowledge that Gilbert lay in the spare room down the hall, not ten meters from her own room. The mere thought of Gilbert asleep so near made it difficult for Anne to sleep. More than once she had contemplated sneaking into the hall and pressing her ear against his door, only to hear his soft, rhythmic breathing from within. She had resisted this impulse in reality, but not in her dreams.

Gilbert had shared a spare room with Phil's younger brother Adam, and two other Halifax cousins. Anne was amazed at how skillfully Mrs. Gordon had found beds for the various friends and relatives that had arrived the day before. The spare rooms of Mount Holly each housed three to four occupants, while the children were permitted to sleep in the living room. Some of the guests had been sent to Heather Glade, the home of Phil's grandmother, who lived not two miles away. Among these had been Jonas, for Mrs. Gordon would have made the poor boy sleep in the garden before she would have allowed Philippa to spend the eve of her wedding under the same roof as her betrothed.

Anne was gazing blankly out of the window and using the brush to work through a rather stubborn knot in her hair when someone rapped sharply on the door.

"Philippa!" came Mrs. Gordon's urgent voice from the other side. Phil stirred slightly, before rolling over onto her other side.

"Mmm," she said sleepily.

"Philippa Gordon! The sun is well up and it's high-time you were as well. There are a great many things to do that simply won't do themselves!"

Phil opened her eyes lazily and rose herself up onto an elbow, before plopping herself back down again. Anne watched her, amused. Leave it to Phil to laze about in bed on the morning of her wedding! Then again, the sun rises earliest in June, and the day was still very young. Phil's eyelids fluttered again, yet she remained silent. Knowing Phil's mother would surely be upset by Phil's continued lack of a reply, Anne found herself answering Mrs. Gordon's calls.

"Thank you, Mrs. Gordon. She'll be out in just a minute. I'll see to it myself."

"Oh, that child, abed at six o'clock, on today of all days! You'd think it was just some plain old, ordinary…" but Anne never heard the rest of Mrs. Gordon's sentence; her voice faded into silence as she strode back down the hall. Anne laughed quietly to herself, for never in her memory had Phil arisen before six o'clock.

Anne then set her hairbrush on the windowsill, vowing to tackle the tangled mass of hair in a few minutes, and went to Phil's bedside. Phil lay face down on the bed; her hair was full of curlers, and the lump on her pillow looked more like a giant, chocolate-colored bow than a human head. Anne sat down next to her.

"Good morning, sunshine, time to get up," she said, as she gave Phil's shoulder a friendly pat. Phil merely grunted and swatted Anne's hand weakly away.

"Well, fine then," Anne said. "If you don't want to become Mrs. Jonas Blake today, I'll simply go to your mother and tell her—"

Phil stirred once again, and then suddenly her eyes shot open. She grabbed Anne's arm with such a force it almost hurt.

"I'm getting married today!" Phil exclaimed, all traces of weariness vanishing from her face in an instant. The sleepy girl of five seconds before was gone and forgotten. Anne laughed at this sudden change.

"Yes, I daresay you are."

"Oh my," Phil said with a chuckle, "but it really is a rather silly thought isn't it? Me, married!" Phil's words were apprehensive, but she looked positively joyful. Anne grinned fondly at her friend. If a tinge of jealousy was felt deep down in her heart, she pushed it immediately away. Today was Phil's day.

Anne went to the window and took her hairbrush again, attempting halfheartedly to battle the obstinate knot. Her hands worked the brush, but her eyes were on Phil. She gave a small sigh as she thought of the day before them.

"What does it feel like, Phil? To know you'll be marrying Jonas today?" Anne asked. Her own wedding day was still a few years away, yet it was prominent in her thoughts, and she was intrigued to imagine what it would feel like for the wait to finally be over.

Phil sat back against the iron headboard and thought for a moment.

"Well, it feels rather strange, yet a good strange; the best feeling in the world. Oh, I'm sure if I were marrying anyone else, I'd be terrified. But Jonas isn't just anyone, and that makes it simply exciting." Phil's words seemed perfectly sensible to Anne. Indeed, when she used to imagine marrying Roy, it had always been tainted with a hint of fear of the unknown, and an edge of doubt of her own happiness. Yet with Gilbert it was not so—with Gilbert there was no uncertainty, only anticipation.

Upon thinking of Gilbert, Anne's thoughts traveled to another question, of what was to come _after_ the wedding. She had always been told that brides lived for the wedding, while grooms lived for the wedding night. Older women seemed to always speak of the wedding night as something to be _dealt_ _with_ and _endured. _She knew little of _that _aspect of romantic relationships, and wondered if it could really be so.

"Are you nervous, Phil?" she asked, a bit embarrassed. "For the… well…"

"For the wedding night?" asked Phil bluntly, now sitting on the edge of her bed while she donned a stocking. Anne was surprised at Phil's frankness. Then again, she should have expected Phil to be frank—that was her way, after all.

"Well… yes," Anne replied shyly. She felt rather foolish to bring up such an intimate topic. But Phil was her closest friend, apart from Diana. If she couldn't talk about these things with Phil, who _could_ she talk about them with?

"No-o-o," Phil said. "All my life I thought I would be nervous, but I'm not. To tell the absolute truth, I'm actually _relieved._"

"Relieved?" exclaimed Anne. This was not the answer she had expected out of Phil. Weren't all women taught to fear their wedding nights?

"Yes, relieved. Just think, Jonas and I will be _free, _with no boundaries," Phil said dreamily. Anne took a moment to think over Phil's reply.

"I suppose I never thought of it that way," she said. She looked blankly at Phil, who took it upon herself to elaborate.

"Jonas and I have been engaged for an entire year, Anne. And well, you know that as time goes by, it gets harder and harder to… OH!" Phil's eyes suddenly grew wide. "But you probably don't know!" She giggled, as her face adopted the same pretentious look she always wore when she had the pleasure of knowing something Anne didn't. She patted the spot next to her on the bed, beckoning Anne to join her. Anne felt slightly childish over the whole situation, but curiosity overwhelmed her, and she consented.

"How silly of me… you and Gilbert haven't been engaged long. Pardon me for feeling otherwise; to me it seems as if you have been a couple forever." Phil crossed one leg over the other and folded her hands over one knee, preparing to provide her friend with a short briefing. "Well then, allow me to enlighten you. When two people love each other, and are as attracted to each other as Jo and I are, and I'm sure you and Gilbert are, they find that as time goes by, the more they _give_, the more they want to _take,_ if you know what I mean. And it gets harder and harder to… restrain themselves." Phil said this all matter-of-factly, as if she were the ultimate authority on courting.

"Oh, come now Phil!" Anne exclaimed. "All you ought to do is set boundaries." Anne had thought this a rather simple and obvious part of any relationship. Phil threw her hands up in the air and shook her head.

"Oh, as if it were that simple! Don't be so naïve, Anne. Now just think. It all starts with a touch of the hand—that excites you, satisfies you. And then it's a caress, and then a kiss." She giggled at her own words as she placed a hand shyly over her mouth. "And then, a day comes when even a simple kiss seems to not be enough. You want more kisses, longer kisses… you want hands and arms and legs." Phil brushed her index finger playfully up the side of Anne's leg. Anne found herself blushing—she had never had a talk like this before, not even with Diana. Or at least, it didn't take the same tone. Yet there was more to her blush; whether Anne knew it or not, she was blushing because Phil's words were _true._ She knew them to be true, for they perfectly described the longing she felt each time Gilbert touched her or kissed her—the longing for more, more, more. Anne's face read like an open book, and Phil was a keen observer.

"Ah, there we go honey. I knew you'd understand." She gave Anne a spirited pat on the knee; she was clearly enjoying this little chat immensely. If there was one thing Phil loved, it was bestowing her own knowledge upon less-informed souls.

"Well, you find yourself wanting more of each other, until one day, when your guard is down, just the tiniest lapse of restraint and you've done the dirty deed!" Phil flung an arm dramatically through the air. Anne gasped slightly, taken by surprise at Phil's conclusion.

"I think you're exaggerating…"

"Oh, but I'm not!" Phil cried dramatically. "If you must know, Anne, there were some times… when Jo and I were alone… one thing led to another and… we had to stop ourselves." Phil paused, waiting for her words to sink in before continuing. "Now, not that Jonas would have had the nerve to go through with it. He's far too by-the-book, and he's a minister after all… but if he _had_ wanted to do it, who's to say if I would have been able to resist him—"

"Philippa Gordon!" Anne exclaimed, not sure if her ears were working correctly.

"Oh, don't you _Philippa_ me, Anne," Phil demanded. "I'm merely suggesting that it's not so cut and dry as you may think—you'll soon see that. I have a cousin who didn't wait; her boy was going off to sea and she was convinced he would be drowned, so they made love the night before his ship left—funny thing is he _was_ drowned, so I suppose her reasons were valid in the end… isn't that strange? And, let's see… I've a friend of a friend who swore up and down she'd do it proper and wait, and wouldn't you know she was pregnant on her wedding day! When the baby came, everyone reasoned it was a month early, but _I _know the truth. Well… all this to say that perhaps it isn't the norm, but it _does_ happen, and you'd do well to be aware of the struggle." Phil leaned back and nodded her head at Anne, giving an air of finality to her speech.

Anne was perplexed by the sheer thought of a woman giving herself to a man before marriage. Then again, she supposed she knew little of the passions that come with being in love. This, of course, was far from true, for Anne had harbored passion in her heart from the day she met Gilbert Blythe.

"Well, I hardly think any decent person _we _know would ever dream of—"

"I'd hold your tongue Anne Shirley. After all, it's you who will stand the true test."

Anne gaped at Phil, bewildered. "What?" she gasped.

"Well," said Phil, rolling her eyes slightly, apparently tired of Anne's blatant innocence, "Jonas and I were engaged only a year, and sure, we waited, but you and Gilbert will be engaged for _three years. _And with the way you two are drawn to each other; well, I'd suggest you get down on your knees and start praying this instant for self-control, because you're in for it, honey."

Phil's statement took Anne aback. She felt rather like a small child, trying to talk to an adult of things she knew nothing about. She had never once considered that _she_ might struggle saving herself for marriage. Surely she was above that. She then began to wonder if Phil's words were true. Would it truly be as Phil said—could one moment of failed restraint lead to such a grand mistake? She thought about the way she had been drawn to Gilbert only days before, when he had kissed her on the floury kitchen floor of Green Gables. She thought of how she had pulled him so forcefully to herself. She thought of the warm feeling of longing which had spread through her body. Would that longing continue to grow?

"Ah, to see the look on your face," Phil laughed, pinching Anne on the cheek. Anne shook her head and gathered her wits about her.

"I assure you, Phil, that if things are as you say, I am determined to instill in myself the utmost patience and discipline. Gilbert could beg and plead on his hands and knees, but I wouldn't waver on my vows of purity for the world." And she believed it when she said it.

"Oh Anne, I hardly think _Gilbert _will be the one pleading on his hands and knees," said Phil with her signature wink. "Out of the two of you, Gilbert is by far the more patient."

… … …

Anne spent a whirlwind of a morning helping with the final wedding preparations. The house seemed likely to burst from the commotion within, as people rushed in and out and from room to room, carrying out odds and ends. With Mrs. Gordon at the helm, every bow was tied perfectly, each set of silverware was meticulously arranged and spaced, and not a curl on Phil's head dared move itself from its carefully chosen place. Stella arrived that morning to be bridesmaid as well, much to Anne's delight. The two girls helped Phil into her dress and shoes, while they each put on a beautiful blue bridesmaid dress. Before Anne knew it the morning had passed, and the hour of the wedding arrived.

Phil and Jonas were married at the Bolingbroke Presbyterian church, at the stroke of noon—which had long been Phil's dream. Anne entered on the arm of one of Jonas' groomsman, and they strode forward to take their places at the front of the church. Jonas stood at the end of the aisle, shifting his weight from one long leg to the other. He ran his hands repeatedly through his flat, tow-colored hair, and beads of sweat were glistening on his wide forehead. His ears, already disproportionately large for his face, were so red they looked sunburned, and stood out unforgiving from his face, which was also very red, except for a smattering of freckles across his cheeks and nose. Yet somehow, in spite of it all, Anne noted that today he did not look so homely as usual. She had always thought Jonas "all arms and legs and ears," as Aunt Jamesina had once said, yet he did not look quite so lank as usual in his sharp black suit. His face, though it showed his nervousness plainly, also carried a distinct undercurrent of joy, which alleviated the awkwardness of his features. Anne gave him a small encouraging smile as she passed him, and took her place.

Phil was a beautiful bride, and the room seemed to give a collective sigh as she entered on her father's arm. Her chestnut locks had been curled and fell delicately around her shoulders. Her bright brown eyes gleamed and sparkled. Her crooked smile was as wide as Anne had ever seen it. Phil wore just the sort of dress Anne would have imagined up for her—all ruffled and puffed below the waist, with sweet little flowers embroidered along the bottom hem and creeping up the sides. Yet the best part of the dress, in Anne's opinion, was the sleeves—long and lacy, and made of an intricate floral pattern which wound its way from shoulder to wrist.

Yes, Phil was stunning, but the one thing Anne would always remember above all else was the way Jonas' jaw nearly dropped clean off when he saw her. He stood at the end of the aisle, blinking his pale green eyes excessively, as if he could not believe what he saw, for how could such a pretty girl have fallen for a homely fellow like him? And Phil's eyes were fixed on Jonas as if he were the only person in the world. A thrill ran down Anne's spine and her cheeks reddened as she imagined locking eyes with Gilbert on her own wedding day. She glanced over at him, sitting in the third row. Gilbert was already looking right at her. Anne noticed that he was the only person in the room who _wasn't_ staring at Phil. She blushed again.

After a short yet beautiful ceremony, the happy couple strode back down the aisle, and the entire party walked from the church to Mount Holly—not more than a mile down the road. Upon exiting the church, Gilbert had immediately taken Anne's arm and whisked her off down the lane.

"Is it bad luck for the bridesmaid to look more beautiful than the bride?" he whispered to her, as they walked arm in arm among the small crowd of guests.

"Be reasonable, Gilbert!" Anne said, trying to hide how his comment had made her cheeks glow. "Phil was absolutely beautiful—a true dainty fairy of a bride."*

"She might have been," Gilbert shrugged. "I really can't be sure; my attention was otherwise engaged."

Gilbert's words were true—Anne was ignorant of the way his heart had caught in his chest when he had seen her enter through the church doors, in her midnight blue bridesmaid dress. As she began to proceed down the aisle, Gilbert had leaned forward in his chair and drunk her appearance in eagerly. Her hair had been braided across the front, yet the rest had been gathered up into a loose bun on the top of her head. Little curly wisps of auburn fell down here and there, framing her face and ears. Her dress hung elegantly around her shoulders, while the neck was in the new low fashion. Gilbert had been fascinated by the way it outlined her hips and fell gracefully from them, sweeping the ground just-so. Above all was the knowledge that this beautiful woman had chosen _him._ He had briefly imagined a day when _she_ might be dressed in all white, walking towards him down the aisle in all her angelic beauty, and goose-bumps broke up and down his arms.

Yet Anne was not aware of this, and was far too absorbed by Phil's radiance to realize that she herself might be looking exceedingly beautiful as well. She took his compliment to be a product of his usual playful banter.

"Gilbert Blythe, you are such a flirt!" Anne cried.

"I think I have a right to be," he said with a wink.

... ... ...

The wedding breakfast was a gay and lively affair. Phil was all smiles and laughter, and she gushed as she accepted the congratulations and admiration of all of her guests—given her affinity for praise, it really was her "day of days." Jonas was beaming as well, as if he hadn't actually believed Phil would marry him in the end. Now that she had, his joy was inexpressible.

Anne and Gilbert participated eagerly in the merry-making as the afternoon wore on. Anne was pleased to see that a few of Gilbert's college chums were there as well, for she had worried he would become bored. He spent part of his time with Anne on his arm, and the rest he spent with the other Redmond graduates at a table on the edge of the tent. Anne had furthermore been overjoyed to see Priscilla, who had arrived on the morning train. Laughing and catching up with another close Redmond friend made her less homesick for those days of the past—it was hard to believe it had only been a few months since that chapter in her life had ended.

The wedding breakfast was delicious, with cold ham, chicken salad, and creamed potatoes to say the least. The toasts were heartfelt and humorous, the cake was fruity and creamy and delightful, and there was entertainment and dancing—the dancing had been Phil's desire; after many a spirited argument, an agitated Mrs. Gordon had thrown up her hands in defeat and consented to the scheme.

As the afternoon wore on, it came time for the bouquet toss. According to tradition, Anne joined Stella, Priscilla, and a dozen other unmarried young women under the tent. Gilbert hung back with the other men to watch the show—there was nothing like a good bouquet toss to liven up a wedding. Phil stood upon a chair, with one hand clutching the white and yellow blooms while the other grasped Jonas' hand for support, lest she might overdo it and tumble to the floor. She gazed and laughed at her little crowd of admirers, enjoying the attention.

"Alright now, ladies. Don't be shy, you know it's bad luck to let it hit the ground!" she cried. With that she turned around, raised the bouquet out in front of her, and tossed it backwards over her head. The girls below lurched to the side in the direction of Phil's toss. Anne was swept along with them. Of course Anne hadn't meant to catch the bouquet; she wasn't the type to put out for such things. Yet as it sailed above her head, a girl behind her reached for it but only managed to tip it with her hand, and it went flying back up into the air. Anne turned to see where it had gone, and saw it dropping right on top of her. It was by sheer reflex that she lifted her arms and let it fall neatly into her hands. Anne simply stood there, blinking at it, as if unable to believe that it had chosen her as its target.

The entire crowd roared in applause at the excitement of the game. Phil, Stella, and Priscilla all shrieked with delight, and Anne felt her cheeks burn with embarrassment.

"Eh, BLYTHE!" someone shouted loudly, above the crowd. Anne's gaze shot over to Gilbert; the other young men at his table were whooping and hollering, as they clapped him hard on the back.

"That a boy!"

"How many doilies shall we embroider for you?"

Gilbert gave a hearty laugh, although Anne could see that he was blushing slightly as well. He peered at Anne and gave her shrug, along with a sheepish grin. Anne couldn't help but think that although she may have caught the bouquet, it was unlikely she would truly be the next to be married, as the tradition said. It would be three more years, after all. Once again, she felt those years stretch ruthlessly before her.

Once the festivities had finally wound down, Jonas Blake swept his bride down the steps of Mount Holly—amidst showers of rice and old shoes—and into a waiting carriage. After many hugs and tearful goodbyes, the happy couple made their way down the lane, Phil waving furiously and Jonas looking red and awkward and pleased as ever.

Anne and Gilbert helped the Gordon family restore the garden to order; and then, hoping to take a break from the turmoil that had surrounded the house all afternoon, took a walk through the little copse of spruces which bordered the garden. Afternoon had faded into early evening, and although the day was still rather warm, a soft breeze blew, rustling the leaves of the trees and the skirt of Anne's dress, and making the atmosphere quite serene and pleasant.

"How relieving for this day to finally be over!" Anne proclaimed, as they wound their way among the trees.

"I thought you said there were few things that made you happier than weddings?"

"Oh, but there aren't!" said Anne. "Weddings are most exciting things, but they are also one of those things that bring relief when they are through."

"Ah, yes. It's quite funny how that works, isn't it?" Gilbert chuckled, as he folded his arms over his chest and leaned back against a gnarled spruce trunk.

"It does seem that the most exciting days are also the ones that most exhaust us. I wonder if our own wedding will wear me out more or less?" Anne mused.

"Hard to say..." Gilbert said, his mind already lost in some distant thought. Anne strode over to him and slid her arms around him.

"Thank you for coming with me, Gilbert."

"I said I'd follow you anywhere, did I not?"

"I suppose you did," said Anne, slightly embarrassed as she remembered their rainy meeting only weeks before, in the park by Patty's Place. That day had been mere weeks ago, yet it felt almost like a dream to her now.

"And how about that bouquet?" Gilbert asked with a smirk. "It seems rather providential, doesn't it?" Anne sighed and shook her head.

"Oh, the attention that silly bouquet caused! I had meant to simply let if fall where it may; you know how people talk about such things..."

"And that bothers you?"

"Hmm?"

"People talking about us," Gilbert clarified.

"Oh, I suppose not," Anne admitted. She realized that she didn't entirely mind being the subject of gossip in both Avonlea, Kingsport, and beyond. She was no glutton for hearsay, but it was pleasing—being tied to Gilbert in the public eye.

"I was going to say... if that is the case, then you really won't want what's in my pocket. It may cause a bit of excitement back home."

"What's in your...what?" Anne asked, uncomprehending.

"There's something I've been meaning to give you this weekend," he said. "I wanted to wait until the chaos of the wedding was over. I hope you'll like it." Anne merely stared at Gilbert, waiting.

Gilbert reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out a tiny pale pink box. He carefully removed the lid. Anne gasped and brought her hand to her mouth as she looked inside, for within lay a ring of tiny white pearls. Each flawless orb gleamed and shined, and was perfectly smooth and glossy.

"You said you wanted pearls," Gilbert said simply.

"Oh, Gilbert!" Anne exclaimed. "They're… they're… well they're _gorgeous!_"

"I thought they'd suit you," he said, as he removed the ring from its box and held it between two fingers.

"That's an understatement! They're perfect!" Anne cried. Gilbert then reached for her left hand and took it into his own, drawing it towards him. He slid the pearls gently down her long, delicate finger. At the sight of Gilbert's ring against her skin, glistening in the sun, Anne felt a wave of emotion—of joy, belonging, and pure love wound into one. A tear slid down her cheek, and Gilbert wiped it away with his thumb.

"Pearls are for tears," Gilbert said, as he lifted Anne's hand to his mouth and kissed it.

A speechless Anne threw her arms back around Gilbert's neck as she held him tight. She had never wanted a diamond; she had told Gilbert that. She had wanted pearls—pearls for tears, not of sadness but of joy. She could not have picked herself a better ring had she chosen it herself. And the part she treasured most was not that her finger would forever be adorned in beautiful jewelry, but that she now had a little piece of Gilbert to carry with her everywhere—a signal to the world that she was his.

"Tears of joy," Anne said softly. "Thank you, Gilbert."

"Anything for you, Anne-girl."

Anne pressed her forehead against Gilbert's, and then he leaned in and kissed her. Anne found herself carried up in the increasingly familiar longing that came with Gilbert's touch—the urge to pull him closer, to kiss him longer and more deeply...

_"The more they give, the more they want to take..." _Phil's words from that morning entered into Anne's mind._  
_

Give and take, indeed.

* * *

**AN: Fun fact I learned while writing this: the bouquet toss originated in the 16th century, when the bride would throw it as a distraction before making her escape. It was considered good luck to get a piece of the bride's dress, and so the wedding guests would often tear the dress to shreds! Yikes!  
**

**I wanted to take a minute to individually thank everyone who has reviewed. I am unable to PM many of you… please know that I really appreciate them.**

Katherine-with-a-K: Of course I added the Jonas tidbit for you, and gladly! ;)

Hediru: Ah, but you've disabled PM's. I was so sad! Anyway, I hope to see some of your own writing soon too… now that school is done.

KatherineBrooke: Of course, the more Gilbert moments, the merrier... always! I am glad you agree.

Lina: Thanks so much for following me over here! I appreciate your comment about word choice… I struggled with it when I began Say Something and I feel I've finally got the hang of it (I had to go back and edit SS to fix the modern speech…)

Gilbert Lover: Great name! I'll fight you for him, if it comes to it. Just saying.

Tinka: You are too sweet, thank you so much for your review!

Alinya: I struggled with Windy Poplars as well. Maybe it was just easier for Maud to split them up? Maybe she just wanted a change of scenery? I am happy to have some more clarity as well.

Blythespirit: You're back, yay! :)

*Taken from Anne of the Island Chapter XXXIX: "Deals with Weddings."


	4. Iced Tea and Cherry Trees

**Chapter 4: Iced Tea and Cherry Trees**

**T**

"Forgive me, Anne—perhaps a more obvious answer may be hidden from my primitive male brain—but why are we picking cherries on Mr. Fletcher's property, when there is a perfectly good cherry grove at Green Gables?" Gilbert congratulated himself inwardly on such a clever phrasing of the question.

Anne hopped over a broken portion of fence, and then turned around to face him. It was a very hot July day—the type of day that finds working men resting in the shade of trees, wiping the sweat off their brows with moistened handkerchiefs, while small children laugh and splash in swimming holes, and their mothers remain in their homes, opening doors and windows in search of cool cross-breezes, and preferring their tea iced rather than hot. The hair around Anne's face and ears was slightly damp from sweat, and several strands which had fallen loose from the long braid running down her back stood plastered comically to her forehead. She wiped these free with the back of her hand and then used it to shade her eyes.

"Because, as I already said, the cherry trees at Green Gables are of a different varietal."

"Ah yes, _varietals. _I should have known," Gilbert said. He fixed her with a grin to match the archness of his tone. Gilbert had no idea why one cherry wouldn't be as good as another. They all tasted about the same to him. "And the varietal growing at Green Gables is so clearly inferior to the much tastier _forbidden fruit_, dwelling in the Garden of Eden otherwise known as Mr. Fletcher's fields. And this is because…" he paused here, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head, waiting for Anne to elaborate.

Anne sighed and rolled her eyes—Gilbert loved making Anne roll her eyes, if only because he knew she secretly enjoyed the way he teased her.

"Because, _Gilbert,_ they aren't as tart for a pie," she replied, speaking slowly, as if she were talking to a child.

"Oh, how silly of me…" said Gilbert sarcastically, "and here I always assumed a pie was supposed to be sweet."

"Well, that's why we add sugar to it."

Gilbert raised his eyebrows once again. He didn't care one bit whether the cherries were sweet or tart or sour or even salty. He merely enjoyed seeing the tiny flames ignite in Anne's eyes whenever he countered her statements for sport. He thought of a cunning rebuttal. "But if you put sweet cherries in the pie, would that not eliminate the need for sugar? Seems far more economical." He put a fist in front of his mouth, trying and failing to hide the wide smirk which lay beneath.

"Fine, you bake it then, if you're so clever!" Anne said as she turned abruptly back around, her hair a mere blur or red as it whipped through the air.

He laughed and shook his head, as he jumped the fence and jogged to catch up to her. Gilbert was surprised to find that this small effort made his heart begin to race and his breaths quicken—this he blamed on the scorching heat. He jogged a few strides past Anne and then turned to face her, walking backwards as he talked.

"I can't very well bake it, since you're so cruelly leaving me tomorrow for Echo Lodge. All I'm saying is, I've never thought of '_tart_' as a desirable descriptor for the taste of fruit."

Anne stopped walking and folded her arms over her chest. "Have you ever heard of a _tart_, Gilbert? You know, the _fruity _pastry that looks like a_ pie?_" Gilbert thought for a moment and his face sank. Of course he'd heard of a tart. It was harder to tease Anne when she spoke such sense! She had outplayed him this time.

"Well, I suppose so… once or twice," he muttered.

"And why do you think they call it that? It's because the fruit is, hmm, what's the word? Oh yes, TART!" Anne grinned and strode past Gilbert in the direction of the cherry grove, feeling satisfied upon besting her opponent.

Gilbert quickened his pace and caught up to Anne, and the two of them began to wade through the grasses of Mr. Fletcher's field. The field was rather unkempt—the slender blades had grown quite tall, and had dried out completely from the heat of the summer. They crackled and whipped against Gilbert's legs as he walked. They were out in the open now, with no shade to be spared, and the sun's rays shown mercilessly upon them. Gilbert found himself growing quite tired; never in his memory had the heat affected him so strongly. Then again, perhaps this summer was hotter than most—surely this couldn't be normal? He was glad when they finally found themselves under the friendly shelter of the cherry grove. The trees seemed to welcome him, their bows spread wide like open arms, urging him to rest in their ample shadow.

The ground was littered with fallen cherries; the sun beat down upon hundreds of plump yet shriveling carcasses, and so the air was permeated with their fruity scent. Gilbert leaned back against a tree to catch his breath. He brought the collar of his shirt up to his face and used it to wipe his brow.

"Gilbert, you aren't tired, are you?" Gilbert looked up to see Anne gazing at him with a strange expression on her face. Surely it couldn't be worry?

"Me? No-o," he replied, perhaps too quickly. "Can't a fellow lean against a tree when he wants to lean against a tree?"

"I suppose so," said Anne. Her face spoke of concern, yet she dropped the subject. "Well then, give me a lift, will you?"

Not wanting to worry Anne—or himself for that matter—any further, Gilbert straightened up and strode over to her. He bent his knees slightly and laced his fingers together, creating a stirrup. Anne lay one hand on Gilbert's shoulder—an act which never failed to make his entire body tingle—and then placed her full weight upon his waiting hands. He pushed her upwards as she rather ungracefully pulled herself up into the tree.

"There," she said as she scuttled farther up a branch, "that was easy."

_Easy for you_, Gilbert thought. He glanced up at her, only to swallow very hard and return his gaze immediately to the ground. Anne seemed oblivious to the fact that the dirty hem of her faded blue dress was hanging open right above his head. Then again, he hadn't seen much—just _white._ Lots of white. Lots of_ fluffy, frilled_ white. How on earth did women pack in so much… _extra clothing_… under their dresses? And why on earth did they do it? And furthermore, how did they walk around in such garments, and on a day such as this? Gilbert decided then and there that he could never be a woman, if for no other reason than the clothes.

"Aren't you coming?" he heard—for he didn't dare look—her call from above. His cheeks were burning, although whether from the heat or from embarrassment, he did not know. He tossed his head, trying to shake the image of Anne's undergarments from his mind.

Gilbert's first instinct was to decline her request and remain on the ground, leaning against the tree and spitting cherry pits as far as he might. Yet who was he becoming, that he might resist the opportunity to climb a tree? The intrepid, thrill-seeking Gilbert he knew himself to be would never pass up such a request. And so he wrapped his arms around a low-hanging branch and swung himself up beside her, snagging his shirt on a twig in the process.

"Ooh, that's no good," said Anne through pursed lips, as she hung her basket on a sturdy branch and began to search for the biggest and ripest cherries.

"Climbing trees in the heat of the summer, trespassing on private land, tearing up my clothes… and all this for a pie I won't even get to eat…" he mused as he examined the small tear in his sleeve.

"Now Gil, that rings of pessimism. That isn't like you."

Anne was right, it _wasn't_ like him. It was just this stifling heat. The very air seemed alive with it, like some invisible beast which roamed the countryside unseen, yet with a presence felt all-the-more keenly. It seemed to leech the energy from his body like a disease. He took a deep breath and made up his mind not to let it get the better of him.

"The tree did me a favor, really. I never liked that shirt anyway," he said to Anne as he sent her a grin. He then began to pluck the nearest plump morsels from their stems and toss them into Anne's basket.

A quarter of an hour later, the basket was nearly full. Gilbert found himself feeling much better—a friendly breeze blew up here; it was quite refreshing as it whipped against his moistened curls and rippled the back of his shirt.

"That should do it," said Anne, as she nestled the basket in the crook between two firm branches and leaned back against the trunk of the tree. Gilbert inched his way next to her and made himself comfortable.

"You know, Gil, it just isn't quite as exciting to climb your own cherry trees, as it is to climb some else's. The thrill of being caught makes it ever so romantic, don't you think?" Anne mused, in her usual poetic tone. Gilbert shook his head and laughed, as he tossed a cherry into his mouth.

"You and your romance, Anne Shirley." He adored the look she wore when she was lost in thought, and he was content to simply study her face as she gazed blankly outward at Mr. Fletcher's overgrown fields. Her cheeks were red and shining, her eyes were bright green in the afternoon light, and the heat made her freckles more pronounced than usual. He realized for the first time that she had freckles not only on her nose, but on her ears as well. There they sat—tiny brown flecks against her otherwise pale skin—and Gilbert found them absolutely irresistible.

Before he knew what he was doing, he had leaned in next to Anne's face, placed his lips on those tiny, perfect freckles, and gently sucked the upper arch of her ear into his mouth. She gave a tiny start and lost her balance, but Gilbert placed a hand on her waist to steady her.

"What are you doing, Gilbert?" she said uneasily, as if unsure what to make of this new gesture.

"I found some freckles I haven't kissed yet," he replied truthfully. He then brought Anne's ear back into his mouth.

"Freckles? I… where… ooh," she swooned as he moved his lips down to her earlobe and teased it with his tongue. Gilbert had no idea what had gotten into him, but at that moment he did not care, and apparently neither did Anne. Her head rolled back, and he moved his hand from her waist to the side of her face—the other hand clutched at an overhanging branch for support. Kissing Anne in this way was so much more intimate and _sensual _than he'd imagined it would be. He could feel her arch her back against him; her fingers grasped the fabric of his pants, just above the knee.

Once he had kissed every part of her ear, he then focused his attention on the other one, pulling and teasing it in a way that caused Anne to give a sharp intake of breath. Yet even these outward signs did no justice to the chaos he was causing within her. He was unaware that her entire body was a torrent of emotion and desire. Her mind had gone blank and the only thing she knew for sure was that Gilbert Bylthe was making her feel something she had certainly never felt before.

Gilbert then continued from her ear to the soft skin around it, planting her with one wet, lingering kiss after another. Maybe Anne was right—maybe climbing trees was romantic, after all.

"Gilbert…" Anne said, tugging harder on the fabric of his pant leg. "Gilbert," she said again. Gilbert said nothing, but continued searching for more freckles to kiss, whether real or imaginary.

"Gilbert, stop," she said, this time a little more forcefully. _Stop?_ Why did she want him to stop? Was she worried he was taking things too far? "Gilbert, stop!" she cried again. Begrudgingly, he respected her wishes. He straightened up and looked at her, confused.

"It's Mr. Fletcher," Anne said, pointing at something off in the distance. "He's coming this way! And it looks like he's in a hurry!" Gilbert shaded his face with his hand and peered out through the leaves of the tree. Sure enough, away in the distance Mr. Fletcher was rushing down the hill towards them, with Mrs. Fletcher in tow. "Oh, goodness me," Anne sighed, as she tugged the basket free from its nook. "What does he care if we're up in his cherry trees? We're doing him a favor, really—he clearly wasn't intending on picking them himself!"

The perfect moment of seconds before had passed, and Gilbert was very sorry. He was glad to find a reason for Anne's insistence that he stop kissing her, but he found himself becoming very angry with Mr. Fletcher for being that reason. He found his annoyance rather ironic, since he was the one trespassing on the old man's land. "We'd better make a run for it," he sighed, as he jumped from the tree and landed with less than usual grace on the ground. Anne let down her basket and Gilbert took it hastily.

"Would you like me to lend you a h—" yet before he had finished his sentence, Anne had swung herself out on a branch and dropped gingerly to her feet.

Anne and Gilbert raced back through the field and towards the shelter of the wood beyond, laughing until they cried as they did so. Gilbert felt like a young schoolboy once again, fleeing from the victim of one of his pranks. He turned back briefly to see Mr. Fletcher in the distance, shouting and shaking his fist, while his wife brandished a rolling pin. Anne and Gilbert reached the broken portion of fence and launched themselves over it. Feet collided with dry earth and dust billowed in tiny flurries as they ran down the lane without looking back again.

"Slow down, Anne!" Gilbert called, once they were out of sight of their pursuer. He suddenly realized that he was tired—abnormally tired. The effort of escaping Mr. Fletcher had worn him out more than he had expected. He felt the blood rush to his head and he staggered, before stumbling to the ground.

"Gilbert!" Anne cried as she whirled around and rushed to his side. Gilbert opened his eyes to see her leaning over him. Her green eyes were wide and her long red braid dangled from her shoulder. "Did you just _faint?_" she asked. He could hear the concern in her voice. Could he really have fainted? He very well might have, but he wasn't about to admit this to Anne.

"Did I _faint?_ Don't be silly, Anne. I just… tripped," he said. His heart was thumping in his chest and his head was pounding. What was wrong with him?

"Hmmm," Anne replied skeptically, letting the subject lie. "Well, let's get you back to Green Gables—you're probably just dehydrated. I for one could certainly use some refreshment!"

… … …

An hour later, Anne and Gilbert were settled at the kitchen table of Green Gables, polishing off large glasses of iced tea, and nibbling at the remnants of two of Marilla's plum puffs.

Marilla was scrubbing away at her countertops while Rachel Lynde sat at the table opposite them. The latter had just bestowed upon them a very long-winded speech about the folly of hanging about out of doors on a day such as this. Having finished with her scolding, she sat back, fanning her face with a newspaper, while peering down her nose at Gilbert and clicking her tongue disapprovingly.

"You look pale, Gilbert. Are you sure you are quite well?" she asked. Having brought up ten children, Mrs. Lynde could practically smell illness from a mile away.

"Very well, thank you Mrs. Lynde," Gilbert replied with forced politeness. He was tired of people asking him if he was "quite well." He had been hearing that question from his mother all summer, as well as a few well-meaning neighbors. But what bothered him most was that he himself had begun to wonder if he truly _was_ well. Mrs. Lynde looked at Gilbert skeptically.

"I don't know…" she said. "Either your mother makes up your shirts too largely, or you're rather thinner than you used to be. And I told her so, just the other day. I also said she ought to be feeding you more. Heaven knows what your mother fixes you at home. Bless her heart, but she never had quite the knack for cooking as some of the other women in this town. _She _might be thin but that's no reason not to make sure _you're_ taken care of. I suppose you're accustomed to "pick-up" suppers more often than not."

Gilbert knew better than to become offended by Mrs. Lynde's impertinence, and so he did not let her words bother him. He glanced over at Anne, who had begun to laugh and immediately disguised it as a rather violent cough. He then looked over at Marilla, who was shaking her head and had begun scrubbing her countertops more furiously than ever. Mrs. Lynde was right that his mother might not be the best cook in Avonlea, but she certainly was capable of preparing a decent and hearty meal. He told her so.

"Well, I certainly hope you are right," Mrs. Lynde said, although her voice indicated her uncertainty. "Well whatever she does get up, do make sure you take a second helping. You'd do well to have some more color in your cheeks. I told your mother that as well—"

"Say, Gilbert, I had an idea I wanted to propose to you," interrupted Anne, who had recovered from her coughing fit and was determined not to let Mrs. Lynde continue to rattle on in such a manner. Mrs. Lynde's eyes bulged slightly—she clearly thought Anne's actions rather disrespectful—but she fell silent.

"What's that?" Gilbert asked, thankful to Anne for rescuing both he and his mother from Mrs. Lynde's clutches.

"Well, I was wondering if you might visit me at Echo Lodge while I'm away," she said, her eyes large and hopeful.

"Oh," Gilbert replied, "well I hadn't thought about it—"

"Now now, Gilbert," Mrs. Lynde interjected. "You've been spending so much time here with Anne, I expect it's been tiring you out. You could do with some rest while she's away."

"Rachel—" Marilla scolded, finally finding her voice. "He is a grown man; he can make his own decisions about how he spends his time." She then looked at Gilbert apologetically, embarrassed over her friend's impropriety.

"I only meant for a day," said Anne, half to Gilbert and half to Mrs. Lynde. "The Irvings would love to see you, Gil. Paul told me so in his letter yesterday. And we're baking the pie for tea next Saturday, and seeing as you helped gather the cherries, I thought you might enjoy helping us eat it. You could come spend the day with us."

Gilbert considered Anne's proposal. He was certainly sad to see her leave for three weeks, and the idea of visiting her was quite tempting, despite the long walk to Echo Lodge. His only reservation towards the plan was a nagging concern that perhaps he wasn't well enough for such an excursion. Then again, next Saturday was still about a week away, and he hoped to be feeling much better by then.

"I'd love to visit, Anne. That sounds like a wonderful plan," he replied enthusiastically, in order to hide any hint of apprehension in his voice.

"Will you promise?" Anne asked. "Echo Lodge doesn't have a telephone, and I'd hate to be expecting you only to be disappointed."

"You have my word, Anne. I'll be there."

Anne's eyes lit up, and she reached her hand towards Gilbert's knee and gave it a squeeze. Despite his uneasiness over the walk to Echo Lodge, he was very excited to know he would be seeing Anne in one week's time, rather than three.

At this point, Davy entered the room with Milty Boulter; the two had been swimming in the creek separating Green Gables from the Haunted Wood. They plopped themselves down at the table and grabbed at the plate of plum puffs with such ferocity, one would think they hadn't eaten in days. Marilla approached the table; everyone's glasses were replenished with fresh iced tea and the conversation turned to the boys' adventures. A little while later Gilbert announced his departure, and Anne accompanied him outside to say goodbye in private.

… … …

"That Anne is a real trick, isn't she? Two months ago she swore up and down she didn't care a bit for the boy, and now he's all she thinks and breathes. Look at those two, talking at the gate for an hour at least! And in this heat!"

"She's always been known to talk to him at the gate for hours."

"Well, I suppose that is true. But not with _both_ of her hands in his. Why, it's positively scandalous! Never in _my_ day—"

"Well it is not _your _day, is it, Rachel? And I think we can hardly condemn them for a bit of hand-holding."

"Have it your way, Marilla. I think it can hardly be ignored that I have more experience in these things, but if my opinion matters not to you, well, I wash my hands of it."

"I'm sure."

"But I will say this, it's not healthy, the amount of time those two have spent together this summer. Her head will be full of nothing more than stuff and nonsense by the end—granted she's never been in short supply of either—and then I've not had my say about _him_, either."

"Indeed, by some miracle you haven't."

"Well, he is the one who really ought to take it easy. He's spent every waking moment with her, when his father can spare him, when what he really should be doing is getting some rest. Do you remember what he looked like when the two of them first returned home? All pale and tired and weak-like? Well, I thought by now he'd be recovered, but he certainly isn't as robust as he once was… maybe it'd do for a Sloane or a Spurgeon, but not like a _Blythe_ ought to be."

"You may be right, Rachel. I'll admit a similar thought has crossed my mind. But I've held my tongue about it and so will you. For pity's sake, you know he's leaving in September."

"True, but if he catches some ill-favored disease and dies before then, it won't make a lick of a difference what his plans are for the fall."

"Oh Rachel, do try and be less dramatic."

"Well, I'm glad she's got it in her head to visit Echo Lodge after all. Maybe he'll take the time apart to rest up a bit, and put his poor mother's mind at ease. When I saw her in town the other day she looked positively worked up about someth—OH! And now he's kissed her, on the _mouth!_ And you're not going to do anything about it? Simply outrageous, Marilla, that's what. If she were _my_ child—"

"Then let us be grateful she is not your child, Rachel, but rather mine."

* * *

**AN: This chapter fought me tooth and nail, but I think I wrestled it down in the end. Hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading, as usual!**


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